GRACE


She compares to mercy
as a wink and a smile
to anger-withholding,
tightly-drawn lips:

she’s a spit-‘n-rub hanky
on a muddied, blazing cheek;
an extra twenty four hours
in a badly squandered week.

What she knows about
long-suffering would crash
the world-wide web:

a debt cancelled,
a blind-eye taken,
a paramedic on the scene
when bruised and badly shaken.

She’s a muscle-bound old boozer
or wears a stumbling infant’s face;
rides hell-bent to save in leather
or drifts softly by in lace.

Crisp autumn leaves or feathers
shed float wearily to the floor;
grace lights our dimming filaments
and enables us to soar.